


Strings

by Kass



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Act Your Age, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-04
Updated: 2008-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House flirts with Wilson and with Cuddy, but who's pulling the strings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings

**Author's Note:**

> This began percolating in me as soon as I saw episode 3 x 19, "Act Your Age." Many thanks to Michelle Christian for giving it a beta nudge here and there!

"Here's the thing I don't get," Wilson said, closing the exam room door behind him.

House grunted and kept playing Tetris.

"You're obviously into Cuddy."

"It's the gravitational pull of that ass," House began, but Wilson talked right over him.

"So why are you trying to push me into bed with her?"

House thumbed the toggle switch, desperately trying to flip the piece into the orientation he needed. "Because it's fun."

"Or because it lets you stay where you're comfortable—on the outside."

"That's facile, even for you." House tried to sound wounded. Not easy, with half his attention on his GameBoy.

Wilson reached over and paused his game.

"Hey! Did I say you could touch me there?"

"I take...liberties. And I notice you're not denying the substance of my theory."

House put the game down. "Maybe I like pulling your strings."

"Doesn't disprove my thesis." Wilson was calm.

It made House want to touch him, to ruffle that exterior, but he resisted. They didn't do that anymore. Instead he went on the offensive. "You can't stop thinking about her, so it must be working."

"I'm not —"

House ploughed on. "Why not? She's an attractive woman, if you can handle the bossiness."

"I think I'm accustomed to bossy," Wilson said, drily, and House had to resist the urge to smile. "Workplace romance is messy. Look at what it's doing to your team."

House shrugged. "Doesn't have to be romance. You could just get laid."

"Until somebody decides they want more than sex, and then everything falls apart." Wilson's gaze was direct, but House could see the hurt beneath it. So that's what this was about. House's refusal to let Wilson want more.

He rummaged for a Vicodin. "Chase should've known better. Cameron may seem all sweetness and light, but underneath, her heart is cold as ice." He grimaced as he swallowed the pill dry.

"If she could admit her feelings, they'd still be making out in supply rooms and her apartment wouldn't feel so empty." Translation: it was House's own damn fault he was alone.

"What do you know about her apartment," House began, but the opening door startled them both into silence.

Cuddy, looking amused and exasperated, as usual. "House. Patient."

"I'm busy," he protested, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine." He didn't want to be having this conversation with Wilson anyway.

* * *

He was playing the piano when his door opened. Wilson, had to be; nobody else had a key.

House ignored him, though he switched to an easier piece so he could multitask. He listened to Wilson's footsteps, the sound of a kitchen cupboard opening, the splash of scotch in a glass.

Eventually he turned on his piano bench. Wilson lounged on his couch, legs akimbo. His sleeves were rolled up, his dress shirt open. No tie. Without meaning to, House remembered the sounds Wilson had made the first time House bit his neck. How Wilson had flushed and arched to meet his touch.

"I was just at Cuddy's house."

That was an interesting way to begin. Point to Wilson. "Oh?"

"She says she wouldn't sleep with you for all the money in the world."

"You weren't supposed to be pleading my case, you idiot," House grumbled.

"I was actually pleading mine, but she took it as a joint offer."

That was even more interesting. "Seriously?"

"No." Wilson's deadpan cracked into a sly smile.

"Jerk," House muttered.

"You should've seen your face!" Wilson took a swig of whiskey.

"It would be fun," House admitted, thoughtfully. He limped over to the couch and sank gratefully into its cushions. Wordlessly Wilson passed him his glass and House drained the contents, appreciating the silky fire as it went down.

"I don't know. I'm not sure either one of you could handle not calling the shots."

House snorted.

There was a pause. When he glanced at Wilson, the appraisal he saw in Wilson's eyes made his heart stutter. He wasn't thinking about Cuddy anymore. Neither of them was.

"Since you're looking at me like we're about to fuck," he said, aiming for crude, "does that mean you've accepted my terms?"

That they weren't lovers. This was about sex, and the occasional date for beer and pizza, not about anything more. When his insistence had driven Wilson out, he'd thought that was the end; Wilson's return sent triumph curling through his belly.

"Actually," Wilson said, and somehow he'd moved closer, the kiss was only seconds away now, "you've accepted mine."

Wilson's mouth on his was good. His hand cradling House's head, holding him at just the right angle to kiss until they were both breathless, was even better.

House broke away. "How do you figure that?"

Wilson's look was exasperated and affectionate and hungry all at once. "You wouldn't be pushing me on Cuddy if I hadn't gotten too close."

"That's ridiculous," House protested. "If I push you away, it's because I'm secretly in love with you—and if I don't push you away, it's because I'm secretly in love with you? Maybe I just want to fuck with both of you."

He hadn't meant it literally, but Wilson's smile was full of possibilities. "I told you, she said no."

"I thought you didn't really ask her."

This time the kiss lasted longer. It was more insistent, dirtier. "Not telling," Wilson murmured, eventually.

Fine. "Whatever. You believe what you need to," House said. Wilson's confidence was unsettling. He needed to regain the upper hand.

* * *

"Oh God."

Wilson's voice was muffled by the pillows but it still carried.

That was more like it. House shifted slightly on the bed to forestall a leg twinge and bent again to lick.

This time when he pulled back, he was pretty sure Wilson whimpered.

He wanted to work Wilson hard, to punish him—for wanting more than what they'd had; for making House wait; for making House need when he'd sworn he wouldn't, ever again—but instead he let the tip of his thumb tease Wilson's asshole before kissing him there again.

"Please," Wilson ground out, his voice shaky.

"Hm?" House was proud of that vocal nonchalance. He studied Wilson's ass, then bit lightly at one cheek.

"Fuck," Wilson said.

House wasn't sure whether that was an exclamation or a request, but he was inclined to oblige either way.

By the time he had fumbled condom and cockring Wilson was propped on his pillows, rubbing back and forth a little and gasping when the sheets trapped his cock.

His first thrust made Wilson groan. The heat was exquisite, and the tension. House pulled most of the way back, then slid in hard.

"Oh," Wilson choked.

"Yeah," House agreed, without meaning to, his voice rough.

They found their lopsided rhythm as though they'd never been apart. Too soon House felt himself straining desperately against orgasm, not ready but not able to keep his traitorous body in check. Wilson squirmed beneath him, clenching around House's cock and working himself against the mattress, until with a shudder and a swallowed moan he was spent.

* * *

"Catch." House threw a pumpernickel bagel at Foreman, which he caught, and then dropped the bag of bagels unceremoniously on the table.

Foreman's look was somewhere between murderous and amused. Perfect.

"What, no bagels for the rest of us?" Chase looked piqued.

"I couldn't decide what kind of bagel you are," House said, hanging his leather jacket on his chair.

"Plain," Cameron said, dismissively. Then, when everyone looked at her, "What?"

"Here," Chase said, handing her a poppy bagel with a flourish.

House poured himself a cup of coffee and settled in to read the Inquirer.

"What's the breakfast for? What'd we do right?"

House shrugged. "I was hungry." He pretended he didn't notice his staff exchanging glances.

Wilson opened the door and stuck his head in. "Hey. Where's my cinnamon-raisin?"

"Oh," Foreman said. "I get it."

House snorted, rummaged through the bag, and threw a bagel at Wilson's head.

"Thanks," Wilson said, and left.

"I don't know how he puts up with you," Foreman muttered. "I'm going to go check on our patient."

With Foreman gone, and Chase and Cameron twittering at each other, House closed himself into his office. At least here, in his fiefdom of five, he knew who was pulling the strings.


End file.
